


Theriac

by daisydiversions



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: M/M, live long and be married, post Last Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-22
Updated: 2008-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisydiversions/pseuds/daisydiversions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edmund and Caspian certainly make the most of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theriac

**Author's Note:**

  * For [realpestilence](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=realpestilence).



> WARNING: Major spoilers for the books, especially Silver Chair and Last Battle. If you haven't read these books, you, er, really shouldn't proceed. XDD;;  
> 

Edmund leans back in a cradle of roots beneath a straight, straight oak tree and thinks about the day he died. He has no idea how long it's been, since Narnia is just as timeless as it had ever been, and it was not in death's nature to keep count of things that didn't matter. 

It had been a bit of a shock, really, to have lived through the war and grow up properly twice over, only to start anew at the screech and crunch of a train's wheels. There hadn't been any pain, as he knew there wouldn't, just the warm pickle that felt like Aslan's breath on his very neck, and he'd opened his eyes to Reepicheep standing on the edge of the world as if he'd never left it. Caspian had been waiting just behind, bright and welcoming, and with Lucy's hand in his, they took the first steps with no fear.

This is a more perfect Narnia than Edmund remembered. There was a no Jadis, no biting winter or enslaved south, and the guilt that had once churned at Edmund's stomach as he longed to redeem himself for past wrongs had melted away with his physical body, leaving a solid weight of contentment in its place.

Caspian emerges from over the side of the hill on top of which Edmund has hidden himself away, a nook he's found pleasing these days and likes all the more for Caspain's willingness to frequent it with him.

Eustace had once told Edmund about the hallowed, aged face of the man who'd died on a dock in his son's arms, but Edmund saw none of that now and can scarcely believe any of them had seen past thirty or ever would. 

Shifting his bare feet in the grass, Edmund feels the tree branches bend above him to provide more shade. They are none of them kings here, except in the way that once a king, always a king, but as Caspian all but throws himself on the ground next to him, Edmund is delighted that they can be as lazy as they like.

Caspian lets out an exasperated huff. 

"The fencing lessons still an uphill battle, I take it?" Edmund couldn't resist asking.

"That boy has no control of his person. Who raised him anyway?"

"Not you, that's for certain," Edmund said wryly, helping Caspian remove his boots. 

Scowling as he threw them and his scabbard haphazardly out of the way, Caspian grabs Edmund's wrist and pulles him away from undoing Caspian's shoulder piece. "And whose fault would that be?"

Edmund laughs because if Caspian is going to be in a mood again, he certainly isn't going to succumb to it. "Well, it surely wasn't mine."

"You never came back," Caspian growls, finally getting to the point of it. "I waited as long as I could." 

"Ah," Edmund says. "That wasn't by fault either. I'm here now, though."

"Not as quickly as I'd have liked," he complains.

"Of course not. Aslan isn’t a tame lion, you know," Edmund reminds him smartly, unfastening the bits and pieces of Caspian's formal attire until he's down to an airy tunic, snug looking leggings, and an irresistibly disgruntle scowl. "He's the one that tames all of us."

Excepting Susan, is left unsaid between them. But after their initial arrival to this eternal place, it hasn't born repeating.

Caspian grunts his reluctant agreement and lets Edmund lean in for a long kiss. 

The humidity creates a sort of buzzing at the back of Edmund's head and by the time Caspian's hands reach out for his jaw line and run calloused fingers down his pulse point, Edmund feels dizzy from it. 

It's cool under the shade of the tree, but Edmund feels a drop of sweat run down Caspian's forehead and bead at Edmund's cheek. Edmund gets under Caspian's tunic after one kiss turns into a dozen, and realizes it's a mistake to try to push Caspian back against the roots after he hears Caspian snort and flip their position. 

Sometimes, Edmund wishes he was Edmund the Powerful or Edmund the Dominantly Aggressive, but Edmund the Just is just as well, since he doesn't mind either way, and it's only fair that Caspian do as he please as long as Edmund is willing.

Edmund makes an appreciative noise that sounds much more than simply willing when Caspian presses against him in a long line of legs and muscles and rough skin that Edmund twists his hips in to and wraps his legs around. 

It's nice; more than nice. And while Edmund's experience sums up to a few mates from school and a nobleman or two from the Golden Age, who did nothing but fawn, those sloppy gropes with Caspian around the Stone Table and up against the captain's wheel of the Dawn Treader whenever they thought they were sure to die and then some, had been the best of Edmund's life. As expected, now is even better.

Of course, Edmund can't speak for Caspian, but he doesn't like his chances against the daughter of a star, who seems to be suspiciously and permanently absent from both this place and Caspian's thoughts, which is all the better for Edmund, really.

Presently, Caspian has both of their trousers and pants locked around their knees and Edmund's ass is in the dirt before he can think to complain, but with Caspian's teeth against his neck, Edmund lets his nails take purchase of Caspian's back, digs his heels in, and lets himself go along for the ride.

As per usual, he's made the best decision.

"Look at the state of you," Edmund laughs deeply, patting down the tufts of Caspian's hair that seem to jut out every which way. He's already given Caspian an elbow to the ribs prompting him to roll off and squash up next to a hallowed out log. 

"This time it _is_ your fault," Caspian accuses, but he seems to have mellowed out compared to his previous attitude, so Edmund lets him away peaceably and surrenders his styling attempts in favor of fingering Caspian's knotted hair a bit and smiling. 

Truly, all told, Edmund decides contently, this heaven business is pretty capital stuff.


End file.
